


Sans Francisco

by xXInfinityDiesXx



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1974), The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6219154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXInfinityDiesXx/pseuds/xXInfinityDiesXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending where Gatsby lives, Wilson is taken to jail before he could commit suicide, but Myrtle still does die. Gatsby and Nick move to San Francisco, California to escape the commotion. Nick is the actual author of The Great Gatsby in this, so the story largely consists of Nick writing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sans Francisco

**Author's Note:**

> Ahaa, this is my first time posting a fanfiction. I've written some before but was always too nervous to share them. I mostly write fluff, so don't except any smut (if there would be, it would only be implied smut). I plan on writing more if I get reviews. :)

> _Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning—_
> 
> _So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past._

      A short moment after writing his final sentences, another short burst of inspiration came to Nick Carraway's mind. He picked up the golden pen and languidly wrote:

> _Vivid stars—moonlight endings. Pink and grey tufts of cotton retreat after a long day of sleeping. The stars flicker here and there, and somewhere in the distance shines our light. From galaxies away, it pulls on your cuffs and asks you to rejoice in its childish happiness. From now on, there will be no more harm—only the radiant, handsome smile that rang on his tan face._

      His tired eyes read the lines over once more. He had been up since half past four in the morning, and just now the grandfather clock in the hall chimed midnight. His desk was piled with stacks of manuscripts, tangled dialogues, and fumbled notes _—_ scribbles and correction after correction, waiting to be corrected for the tenth time. He has to get this right. When you're writing anything, you have to always end it in some sort of fantastical way. Nick learned this the most during his time writing the Yale News editorials. If you want a memorable paper—whether the readers’ are on the train or the ferry—you want it to claw at the back of their jungled minds. It has to end desirably, in a way that’ll be loved and talked about.

      Reading his written words a final time, he let out a loud groan and ripped off the extra paragraph. He then balled it in his fists and threw it across the small room. With a _thunk_ , his head fell in his crossed arms upon the table. He sighed and shut his eyes tight, his eyebrows furrowing in response to a migraine. He’ll pass out at any minute now from exhaustion—he felt he was already feeling the effect of dreams on his fatigued body.

      "Are you still up?" whispered a small voice.

      Nick groaned an incoherent reply. The question was simple in reality, but it rang through his head like a buzzing bee. Then the door frame breathed out a sigh and soft footsteps could be heard pattering across the marble floor.

      "You shouldn't really stay up so late, old sport."

      He tilted his head to the left so the side of his head was still resting and creaked open his right eye. A blurry Jay Gatsby blocked the light from his yellow lamp, which threw a dark shadow over Nick and his desk. A cheeky grin was prominent in the gaze of the older one. Nick glared at it.

      "Do you want me to carry you?" the grin offered. Actually, Nick pondered, it's rather James Gatz now. Jay Gatsby was shot in his swimming pool. Still he called him Jay out of habit and it didn’t seem like it bothered the other. Maybe he was just being his polite self. Nick took a mental note to ask Jay about it when he didn’t feel like dying.

      "Leave me to suffer," he mumbled, shutting his eyes once more and covering his face with his dark blue sleeves.

      "You don’t need to stay up so late, your writing’s fine no matter what." Before he could utter a meager reply, the blonde reached at the desk and grabbed a notebook of Nick’s recent scrawls. A minute passed as Jay read the apparent ending for the book.

      "This is exquisite, old Sport! Copacetic! Now get up, we have quite a day tomorrow!" Jay pulled on Nick's sweater, attempting to pick him up.

      "Geez, you're heavy."

      "You’re just getting old."

      "You're just a slouch. Come on!" Jay finally won after a few more minutes of bickering, Nick stood up and stumbled out of his office. His heavy head could barely hold up, and by the time he reached the other end of the hallway and found his white bed he felt himself immediately drifting off. His nose smelled a familiar scent of fresh coffee from the kitchen, but before he could consider he found himself into a dream world.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this was short. ^.^ The later chapters will be longer if people want them.


End file.
